pulled out a thin sheaf of folded paper. Money, Longarm thought, although the poor visibility would not let him see that for certain sure, and handed it to the man in the white smock. The local took a careful look at the currency he’d been given—Longarm confirmed what it was when the fellow counted it—and pushed the bills into his pocket, then picked up the pestle and dumped something from it into an envelope which he handed to Lewis.
The ball player practically ripped the envelope open again in his haste to reach the contents. He pulled out a pinch of the powder and put the substance inside his mouth, pushing it into his cheek the way a man will sometimes use tobacco snuff, although Longarm was fairly sure that a body wouldn’t go to a pharmacist for anything so simple as ordinary snuff.
On the other hand …
Longarm went over to the alley door and was waiting there when Nat Lewis stepped outside with his precious envelope in hand.
It didn’t really matter to Longarm what it was that Lewis was up to here. Whatever it was it had nothing to do with post office robberies. Still, he was mildly curious.
“H’lo, Nat.”
The outfielder acted like he would have come clean out of his skin if it hadn’t been firmly closed on all sides. “Short. Jesus, man, what are you doing here?”
“I, uh, was looking for something else and couldn’t help but notice your little transaction in there. Mind telling me what it was about?”
“It’s … nothing. Really.”
“Nothing, Nat? It’s important enough for you to hide it from the rest of the team.”
“I just … nothing, dammit. Leave me alone, Short. Just leave me be about this.”
“I dunno, Nat. It kinda looks like the sort of thing as ought to be discussed with McWhortle.”
“God, Short, you son of a bitch. You’d tell, wouldn’t you? Don’t. I’m begging you. You want money? Is that it? I … I don’t have much left. When we get paid again maybe I can …”
“I don’t want your money, Lewis. I just want you to tell me what it is you’re doing. I mean, I saw you on the train one time taking delivery of something … or passing something along, I couldn’t tell which … and now this. What is it that you’re up to, Lewis?”
“I just … it isn’t anything illegal, Short.”
“Then why are you trying to hide it?”
“It’s Douglas. He’s dead set against … he’d kick me off the team if he found out, Short. I’d be ruined, my whole career shattered.”
“For what, Lewis?”
“It’s only coca powder. It’s perfectly legal, you know. It doesn’t harm anything, and it … it kind of helps.”
“I see,” Longarm said. And of course he did. The powdered coca was entirely legal just as Nat Lewis said. It was legal and it was cheap and it was used by many as a pick-me-up when they were tired or wanted a little boost of quick energy. Unfortunately the stuff could also be addictive and could lead, or so some claimed, to serious health consequences. Certainly it could affect one’s judgment. Those likely were the reasons Douglas McWhortle would not want any of his players using the commonly available stuff.
Nat Lewis, it seemed, was already addicted beyond McWhortle’s—or his own—ability to control.
The pharmacist must have overheard the voices outside his door because now he appeared there, this time without the smock and gloves. “Is everything all right out here?”
“Yes. No problem,” Longarm assured him.
“You are sure?”
“Really,” Lewis said.
“Good night then.” The pharmacist closed the door and rather loudly locked and chained it.
“Short,” Lewis said, his voice pleading. “You won’t …”
Longarm sighed. “No, Lewis. I reckon I won’t say nothing to McWhortle ‘bout this. But I think … no, never mind. You don’t want advice from me, I’m sure.”
“Thank you, Chet. Thank you. You won’t regret it. I promise.”
The teammates left the alley in silence and proceeded back to the boardinghouse without speaking again.
There was no sign of Jerry on the street, Longarm noticed.
But then obviously the kid would have overheard everything that took place in the alley. No point in mentioning that to Lewis, though.
Two more days, Longarm thought. Two days and the Capitals would meet the Jonesboro nine.
And this game should not be marred by the presence of robbers. That was what he’d assured Jerry when the kid pressed him on the subject.
After that, well, after that they would just have to wait and see what happened, wouldn’t they?
Chapter 46
The morning of game day Longarm crawled unwilling into his baseball outfit. He managed to refrain from sniveling and whining about it, but he did snarl and spit just a little.
“Something wrong, Marshal?” his roommate asked.
